


gold

by holographiccatpun



Series: Curtwen Kinktober [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol, Kinktober, M/M, Piercings, The Great HatchetPiss Fuckfest, pretty tame for kinktober but it's gonna get better i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holographiccatpun/pseuds/holographiccatpun
Summary: Curt can't take his eyes off of Owen.Not that that's a new thing.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Curtwen Kinktober [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950865
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	gold

Curt can’t stop staring. 

It’s not a new thing, per se, Owen’s always been a fine piece of ass, but for once it’s not his looks that have caught his lover’s eye. It’s his new jewelry. 

Europe has always been on the cutting edge of the fashion trends, meaning the British agent was leaps and bounds ahead of his partner when they had the rare moment together. Curt was always in awe of the way Owen could make even the strangest of outfits work, but this... God,  _ this .  _

The earring is barely visible in the low light of the bar, glimmering faintly as Owen charms another round out of the bartender. If he notices the ring in the other man’s ear, he doesn’t say anything. Curt wouldn’t be surprised if he was too transfixed with one of the other stunning features on his partner’s face. Either that or the various stresses of working at a bar on a Friday night.

“See something you like, Mega?”

The American manages not to jump, but he can see the way the skin crinkles around Owen’s eyes that he clocked the subtle flex in his arms. The other man knows him too well. He’s going to a wreck by the end of this night, but then again, when Owen’s involved, he rarely ends nights any other way.

“Maybe,” Curt straightens a little, tapping his fingers against the table. They’re in a small corner booth, secluded enough from the noise not to be overheard but close to the action that no one would second guess them. They only sit so close to hear one another, of course. “What of it?”

Owen doesn’t dignify his question with a verbal response, rather offering one of the twin glasses out to him with a knowing look. Curt takes the whiskey from his lover’s extended hand, rolling it slowly as they lock eyes. They move in unison, raising their glasses, tapping the rims together, and bringing them to their lips to drink. It’s a small test of wills to see who stops first, but Curt refuses to back down. 

Owen’s glass leaves his lips first, the man’s face souring or only a moment at the burn of bottom-shelf booze before he returns to Curt. His partner sips for a second longer, savoring the ache in his throat and his chest before returning his glass to the tabletop. His hand does not leave it.

“You’ve always been a horrible liar, love.” 

“I’ve just been..  _ admiring _ your new jewelry.”

Owen hums, circling his finger around the rim of his glass absently, almost bored with the exchange. Curt knows he’s anything but bored, but the feigned disinterest makes his heart thunder against his ribs. “Oh?”

“It suits you.” Curt lets their fingers graze beneath the table as he brings a hand up, brushing a fleck of dust off Owen’s shoulder as an excuse to touch him. He moves into the touch for a moment, letting the warmth of Curt’s touch radiate through the layers of clothing before he pulls away.

“I’ve heard they do.”

“They..?” Curt’s brow furrows before realization blossoms in the back of his mind. “You have  _ more ?” _

Owen shrugs noncommittally and swirls his whiskey, looking up to Curt with hooded eyes as their knees brush under the table. “Maybe.” He takes a short sip, expression not quit souring as much this time. “What of it?”

Curt feels the warmth of whiskey and a hit of lust in the pit of his stomach as Owen, the smarmy bastard, uses his own words against him. He looks at the other man and steels himself for what is sure to come. “I’d like to see them.”

“Well then,” Owen gives a phantom of a grin and finishes off his drink. The glass hits the table again as he leans in, hot breath curling around the shell of Curt’s ear. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

  
  



End file.
